The Lull of Walls
by WhatBoredomWills
Summary: She was always afraid of everything: the waning humanity within the Walls, of heights and even water—she was even frightened of her own name, "Titania". Orphaned and bored by fear, she had to live with her kind grandparents in a small village in Wall Rose. But she wanted to escape humanity by joining the Scouts. How exactly will she succeed being so cowardly a person? Find out! R&R


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan; all rights to that great work of art belongs to Isayama Hajime-sensei. However, this story, its plotlines or any original characters, do belong to me.

* * *

**The Lull of Walls  
**|Prologue|

"_To be or not to be;  
__whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer  
__the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,  
__or to take arms against a sea of troubles,  
__and, by opposing, end them?  
__To die, to sleep—  
__no more—and by a sleep to say we end  
__the heartache and the thousand natural shocks  
__that flesh is heir to—'tis a consummation  
__devoutly to be wished!  
__To die, to sleep.  
__to sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub!  
__For in that sleep of death what dreams may come  
__when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,  
__must give us pause.  
__There's the respect  
__that makes calamity of so long life._"

They say dying is simply a natural thing; to say it is our own demented version of conformity may actually be true. I think I can finally understand that once insipid nuance—but it is what it was no more. We all conform to complete life, and we must conform to end that life with death as well.

I sure try to think differently now, to look at the emerald greens of leaves and shrubs, or the intense azure of the sky as though I have never seen them, or even smell the bare scent of grass and soil—surely I have truly appreciated none of them till now! I try to think these giant trees of skyscraping heights and tremendous masses of bodies as not large gravestones, but friends at a funeral, smiling to say goodbye, remembering the best of our times together before it completely fades out our minds and bodies.

For once, life suddenly becomes _perishable_ to my thoughts and touch—one mere caress and it dissipates into thin air, lost without contact nor smell. It suddenly hurts to miss something without even knowing it.

I cry, with warm tears that burn and sting my cheeks.

And then, I whimper.

A gurgle deeply resounding in my chest follows suit like a silent, loyal companion to guide through this small pilgrimage—am I a wanderer? I feel as if this body no longer belongs to me, the forest and earth now owns it, and I am only transiting, departing slowly pore by pore, tissue by tissue, pain by pain—I can feel it, like ripping apart the outer layers of a tree bark, only to reveal the now bare growing body of the stem that is the soul, a body that's dead before death, dead before the living soul.

I can feel myself dying, leaving, departing this vessel of a body.

I cry. This time, with more excess than what was necessary.

"Tan!"

It's a far cry of my name, but I ignore as if it was just my imagination, and yet I know it wasn't—I do not imagine anything right now, for I do not want to mix the pleasures of fiction with the tortures of reality. I'm trying to think differently, not imagine differently; that the voice is of someone I know very well, someone who is never imagined to speak—he does so without the knowledge of imagination, within the will of his own and with rare consent.

_Don't come for me. _

I sob.

_Please, don't. _

My ribcage constrict tightly against my lungs, hindering the breath within me to escape, some kind of way to choke death. I tremble as my fingers – wet with blood, _my _blood – clench slowly, tightly hanging on to the leftover of life, hoping that I could last for a few moments before I leave, to say goodbye before I exit once and for all—yes, just like that. I want to leave in that way, not rudely, without saying a word, like slamming the door.

No, not like that at all.

Then low groans of several titans – the very same ones I haven't managed to kill – echo throughout the threshold of the forest, thuds and then violent vibrations shake the earth—I fear a little that they might trample me to death.

But the fizzing of wires thrusting out of its circled body joins their absent moans, reassuring me that such a thought will not be allowed, that I may die unfulfilled but not trampled. I hear several _human _grunts, the sound of metal clanking, the very claws of the grapple digging into the body of trees, sending a figure cloaked in green through the air like a fascinating trick of mages and myths, with the badge of the Scout Regiment proudly waving in his wake and then—

"Tan! Stay with me, damn it!"

_Don't, please. Don't come for me. _

I could see it all in my head, not an imagination, a reality that has repeatedly happened without defect, a life that has run down through practices over and over—most through bad times, others through miraculously good ones. The sound of his clothes – the cloak especially – flapping rigorous in the still air fills my ears like a warm and calming lullaby. His flawless movements are swift and mighty through the naked air of titans' stench of sweat and the rusty odour of human blood—I can see him clenching his jaw together in hatred and utter disgust, then he positions himself over their napes, the perfect, swift maneuver of his limbs – any and every one of them in sync with the other – to deliver that killer blow.

The steel administered by his deft hands cuts through the titans' skin, upper strike and lower strikes shaped into the cutout chunk of flesh and muscles; it is followed always by thick crimson that splatter and then evaporating in hot steam.

Just like that, he conquers over two beings that _towers_ his own.

"Tan!" I can hear another round of fizzing, closer and closer, before it is briskly followed by a stomp, the landing of his feet near my grounds.

_Don't come any closer. _

"Shit," I heard him mutter under his own breath. His shadow approaching, hovering over my own body, as shaky breaths leave his lips.

_I don't want to you to see me like this. _

I could then hear his heavy set of footsteps, drenched with guilt and dragged with resent—I wish I could smile, but I don't want to pain him.

"Why didn't you just—" he doesn't finish his sentence.

But I can hear his thoughts in my head somehow.

"_Why didn't you just kill those titans?" _and some of his usual snide remark follows along, "_You've dealt with them before—you even enjoyed it more that Shitty Glasses does! You said so yourself, you little shit!" _

I wish he'd just say them out loud, make me laugh, break the thick stubborn ice, and ignore the fact that lies in between the lines: that I was expiring with every breath of my lungs and blink of my eyes. I don't want to be reminded of those slain titans, and how their very obtuse faces were so familiar and life-like, that they were so much of people, and that they were – two persons I once knew and barely remember – of _my_ parents.

I see him to my side now, as he takes on several steps forward.

His raven hair envelops a pact with shadows, highlighting its deep coal colour and his glacier-terrain of eyes tucked away behind them, but I see them still. I remember what they once see with the way they looked at me now—deaths, of everyone and all over. His face pale as if it has gone beyond white; it is aching, a little crack on his stoic, cold mask that I am not deserving to be privy of. I want so much to tell him to keep it to himself, to spare me from that and I don't want him to pity me—not him of all people! His eyebrows: they remain creased slightly, but with the weight of disappointment and hopelessness that has replaced concerns and care; I feel pride now, for he sees me differently than ever.

His red, pursed lips moved, but words fail him—it was so unlike him! He bites his lower lip, chewing, contemplating. . . I feel everything of him as he stares at my meek, useless being.

Then he goes at it again, "Tania. . ."

Gentle. Calm. Cool, but not cold—I have never heard that side of his voice before; it is as sudden as the emergence of a distant, guiding star, that I know now is the true guide of my wandering pilgrim journey.

He has called me by my name, something he'll never do unless he is utterly serious, so I turn to look at him with a keen eye. I beg him to speak with my eyes and he continues, "I didn't expect you of all people to. . . Goddamn it, you—"

"—_can't survive this, can you?" _

Sorrow. Hurt. Compassion, but not without sympathy; I wonder for a moment why he took the time to be here for me, to allow me his company.

I turn my head, slowly, left and right to shake. He refuses to look away from my broken body, like it was piece of art he cannot admit denial or it will be the end of everything as we know it. His oculars burn through my skin and flesh; I can feel him watching every movement of my lungs and it was as if he could feel my pulse in this quiet air, being extremely cautious of every gasps and sighs, every skipped beats and slow drums.

"I-I knew i-it," my voice comes out husky, croaking and yet with hints of blood burbling within.

"_Don't force yourself, idiot."_

"M-my dream," I continue anyway, laughing slightly with blood spitting out a little and hoping it didn't make him feel uncomfortable, "It's c-coming true. . ."

"That's one hell of a shitty dream, Squad Leader Sturzstein," he retorts with his usual habit of clicking his tongue; he stashes away his pair of hand-grips into their holsters, before kneeling down to examine my wounds. I can feel him removing some clothes in the way, eyes focusing on my abdomen. He sighs, his breath fanning my face, "You've let them chew on you, huh? And it's not even the appetiser yet. . ."

I laugh—now he looks disgusted as drips of blood seeps from the sides of my lips and the holes of my opened wounds.

"Geez, you've a terrible timing to laugh at my shitty jokes, you know that?"

"I-It never gets o-old," I smile.

He bites his lips again—

_Don't do that._

Then without any reckless thoughts or mild bouts of hesitation, he takes out a napkin from his jacket pocket, wiping away whatever that bothered him: the blood from my lips, the sweats that dripped along my temple, the salty tears from its homely ducts.

_Please, don't show me any kind gestures._

He pauses.

"_This is the most I can do, Tania. . ."_

_It's all mine. . . This fault is mine!_

How can I tell him that it's fine, that he is blameless, that he shouldn't be so afflicted? I try to find some contact with his eyes, but most of the time he deflects my stare by looking away, focusing on something else entirely.

At the moment, I'm distracted by a gentle pressure that grows on my wounds—his large and thick fingers pressed gently against the skin on my stomach and suddenly, warm liquid overwhelms him and he releases a small 'tch'. He grinds his teeth, struggling to make sure every fibre of his napkin could capture the moisture from flowing out.

I smile at his _kneading_ attempts to stop the bleeding. It was comforting.

_It's not your fault this happened, Levi. It is mine. . . _

His eyes finally met mine.

"_Fuck. I can't stop the bleeding!" _

"It's alright. . . D-don't worry ab-about it, please," I say slowly, but tremors rake my body so much so my breath comes hissing out; he responds by removing his cloak in a swift tug of one hand and covers half of my body with it, "I-It's s-so co-cold suddenly. . ."

"_It's fine! I'm cold too. . ." _

I notice his eyebrows creased not in anger or annoyance as they had always been up till then—they meet in a tight knit, as though he withholds the need to cry out and stammer, like a distraught child looking for his parents in a crowd of friendly faces.

_Don't. I don't need to see this side of you, not now. . . _

"H-help is coming. So stay with me," he ignores the sploshing sound when he retracts and pushes his fingers onto my skin as he so boldly orders me.

"W-when did you spot me?" I had to ask to change the subject. I don't want to remain the topic of conversation, not when he is staring at me like I was _them, _like I was those two— "I-I didn't think you were around when _they_ attacked me. . ."

"I thought you saw me coming?"

"N-no, I-I really didn't. . ."

"Clearly, you weren't focusing! Damn it, Sturzstein! What drove you mad like that? For fuck's sake, it's not even funny!"

But I go on laughing, so much and hard that tears slip past my eyelids without me knowing and Levi stares at them, at me as I slowly break into sobs. My vision blurs; I just stare up to the canopies of the forest, hoping the sun would peek through the gaps and make me think of better times, think of this pain differently, but the sky pours out rain through my eyes—the deluge of honesty that keeps on going, forcing me to choke on sobs and bite down my lip.

But now, I can no longer feel any pain. I don't even remember the idea of it —it won't cross my mind anymore, or even life itself. I feel as if I am floating without any of my previous senses and the border between life and death has now blurred. I actually feel Levi's lifeline in the atoms of the air that he breathes in, and hear his heart pulsating in a fluctuating dance of double taps and skipping bumps. He's so much more alive than I am, rigorous to the memory of senses and thoughts.

He's here with me, yet I feel so incredibly lonely.

I've lost connection with this body.

"D-damn it, don't be annoying, you little crybaby!" he stresses his words by pressing harder into my wounds, "Hange is on her way! Fritz will come along too and he's the last of your squadron—what would it feel like for him to lose you like this? And what about Mike and Nanaba? They'll come too and so will _he_—I'm sure of it!"

I let out a silent gasp, turning to look at Levi; he merely nods, staring straight and deeply into my eyes, never looking away or blinking, like the amber eyes of an all knowing black cat, insisting on his daily catch.

"_Erwin will definitely come too!" _

I feel him grip the cloth tighter in his hand, squeezing out the blood, but what leaked out is quickly replaced, if not doubled.

_Erwin. . . _

My tears steer away from the ponds of my corneas as I blink, more threatening to slip at this nip of realisation; I have not been very clear and sincere with myself, opposing the maelstrom of emotions that makes life as beautiful as it is—I have discarded it too soon! I gave in too soon! I gave in to the pleasures of fantasy, forgetting the reality of tremendous joy and happiness that life had by far spared me.

Why have I betrayed myself, forgetting the memorabilia of my own life that I have cherished so far? How could I? How dare I?

How dare I forgot that the people I knew, that I've come to trust and love? They were all the shelters of which I've relied on, the outer layers of my living stem that protected me from predators lurking beyond my skin. They were there for me in times of dire need, providing small comforts that amounts to great lengths, like glowing stars that never fade out even when darkness prevailed. They were there when I had lost faith in myself, in humanity, living – no, _surviving_ to live – in this titans' playground.

_Erwin was the one restored that faith. . . _

"That's why," Levi goes on in a quiet whisper, "You can't fucking leave without saying goodbye—"

"—_and I'm the one that should be rude, not you—you idiot!" _

I keep on sobbing as I nod.

_That's right. I can't just leave and slam the door behind me, can I?_

Just as he said, I have to say goodbye.

"B-but I-I'm so tired, Levi," I hear myself bleat, with tears falling more slowly, as if coming to an interval, just like my passing. "M-my body is—"

"Don't."

Levi presses harder on the wound, but it would ooze more blood in return and he would just snarl at it again—this happened several times in the span of minutes. After a while, he finally gives in to its persistence, watching in mere helplessness as his hands are soaked heavy and red with my blood. His face contorts in the most littlest, inconspicuous of ways as he slowly pulls away with a quivering touch. I could feel him shaking a little, spreading goosebumps over me, almost ticklish.

"_Shit! Fucking filthy titans!" _

The way my lungs expand is like it being pulled out atom by atom, piece by every piece, teared between the tissues, as I'm holding back tears and watching him evolve from sheer arrogance to honest empathy. He makes me want to stay a while longer.

But then I think of Isabel and Farlan.

I cry again.

"L-Levi, please," I beg him now, weak and wobbly fingers reaching out for his camel coloured jacket collar; I pull him close as I stare with anger spreading through my eyes, "D-Don't stay here! T-They need you! You have to go! G-Go and be useful! L-Leave me behind!"

He too looks angry now as he snaps back at me, "D-Don't even think of it! Don't you dare think I'd leave you behind! I'm not going anywhere until help arrives, you hear me? Bear with it, ya'shithead!"

_But, why Levi? Why? _

"I-I," a single tear leaks out, "I. . . don't deserve t-this."

"That's not for you to decide!"

"Y-You weren't there for _them _then! You can't be there for them then. . . and now, y-you—"

He remains silent. He reaches out to wrap his hand around my own in a quick motion but the grip very loose; crystal icy orbs maintain sealed on my own, eyebrows in confusion this time, trying to understand what I mean. His form in muddled state; but just like tides flowing along the mud and sand, marking the riverbanks of its return over and over, his sanity returns.

"Tania, don't," he tugs at my hand, fingers clenching around mine as if to give me some kind of confidence to his words, "Let's just. . . Just don't talk about them anymore! That was in the past and it can't be helped—there's nothing that we can do now that can change it! But this. . . This is your moment, right here!"

"B-But they were _your_ friends, Levi! A-and the both of us. . . W-We barely _know_ each other."

_It's unfair to them, and to you, too. _

Levi has so far been doing the strangest of things in the Scout Regiment; with all his wonted cleaning schemes and brash crudeness, but it had never ever been _this_ strange—his face bears the slightest of change that I could never have thought to witness (nor hope, considering his character), but it is actually happening to me right before my dying eyes. His features have softened, eyes light and airy, his eyebrows no longer tensed but eased in thought and motion, but most of all, his lips. . .

They shift upward at the ends, in the minutest of its ways, into a smile.

A _genuine_ smile—one Isabel or Farlan usually catches glimpses of.

"I just know you enough that you can't leave us like this," he reasons, and that smile fades slowly to the normality that is custom to Levi. "and in the end, even if I may not have liked it as much, you're just like _them_ too—to me, you've grown to become not just a friend, you're a comrade now. That's all that matters right now. . . This moment is all that counts!"

_Levi, I'm. . . _

A tear slips past my cheeks.

_I'm so honoured that you'd consider me as one! _

And I couldn't bring myself to say anything.

"Oi, shithead!" I startle at the return of his rough voice, "Say something, damn it!"

I couldn't hold back to laugh a little; it makes me cough and hurt my chest—they were rough against my ribcages. "O-Oh, w-were you expecting me to r-reply?"

"Hell yes. Geez, don't tell me you thought I said all that just to comfort you?"

_Was it all the truth?_

My speechless stance takes him back angrily.

"Damn it! You can be so dense, you know that?"

I blurt into a full-blown laughter. But my wounds—

"Shit!" Levi takes away one hand from mine to examine them, then he looks to me like that angry cleaning fairy who always found my desk messy—I couldn't help but reminisce in smiles. "Tch! Miss Clumsy-Pants, as always."

I nod, "Never gets tired of me, eh?"

_I'll wait then, even if I feel so tired and heavy. . . _

"Will you hold my hand, Levi?" I asked like a child.

It makes me feel somewhat selfish, but I was afraid for a while: that no one would be here for me, or miss me, or remember me. But what Levi said and have done so far reminded me that I was wrong about them. In fact, they're just like these tall, gigantic trees—they're not gravestones at all. They are the very roots that you hold down, keeping you steady, providing you all the nutrients you need whilst protecting you and discounting anything that harms you.

Friends.

They not only make life eventful, but they make death kind and bearable. I am lucky to have friends that may have the most peculiar way of showing that they care, but they are the people – my very own roots – that make values out of what I have been through in this cruel world. If it weren't for them, I would be a blinded fool; my world would be dark and gory, and my night sky starless.

"Of course," Levi leans forward with that gentle expression of his (the smile was absent though!) and clasps his calloused, wet fingers around my trembling hand, "and I almost forgot whose blood it was. I thought it was titans' blood on my hands but. . . they're fucking disgusting now, thanks to you Miss Clumsy-Pants."

I want to giggle, but I smile instead.

"Whatever you do, don't close your eyes just yet," he sounds begging.

"How do you expect me to stay awake in this kind of—"

"Tell me a story," it's hard to believe he means it by the look on his marble cold face; but he looks down to me and his eyes narrow a little, "_Your _story."

_My story? Have I really never told anyone? _

I smile and nod at him, turning away to look back up to the sky. I feel him tightening around the tips of my fingers, but it only makes me feel safe and sound.

"W-Well, where do I s-start?"

"How about," Levi grunts now, "that shitty dream you were talking about?"

"Ah! Y-yes, that one goes a long way back!" I smile at him, making his hold around mine clenched once more. I tug at his hands and giggle, "D-don't worry. I can last. . . I-I think."

"_Whatever you say then." _

I smiled wider at him, but he relents to sulking.

_That's right. . . It's my funeral, not his. . . _

I return to look at the canopies high up above me.

"I-I was born in a small v-village in the Eastern part of Wall Rose. . . It was called _Faerie_. We h-have some of the highest hills and deepest valleys by the river, homes to. . ." I let out a giggle now.

"What's wrong?"

"Larkspurs and white heathers. D-do you know what they are?"

"Yeah, flowers that grow in the high places."

"Well, because of its rarity, white heathers are believed to bring l-luck and so does larkspurs," I smile.

Levi pulls my hand gently, "Just like you?"

"Heh, yeah right. . . Anyway, I still remember their smell or how they looked. But I can't touch the younger larkspurs—they're highly poisonous and—"

"—knowing Miss Clumsy-pants you touched them anyway?"

"W-Well, I had my share of skin-rash accidents!"

"Tch. I knew that was coming. . ."

"But that dream I had," I have successfully made him look back to me seriously, "It happened because of another accident."

_Is he going to insult my accident prone self? _

Levi adjusts his position; he leans more closely towards me now, legs sitting crossed on the forest floor, and he looks intent on hearing the full story. "Does this," he pauses, but then as he lowers our hands to my side, he focuses all attention on me, "have anything to do with your fear of water?"

_He's as perceptive as I thought. . . _

"Y-yes," I nod and sigh; true enough, the depredations of my wounds had slowed down and allowed me to continue speaking more clearly—perhaps Death is pitiful of me, "I'll start again."

He agrees by acquiescence, looking ready.

"I was born in the small community of Faerie Village, one of many in the Eastern part of Wall Rose where the hills are taller than others and the valleys run deeper. Like the landscape, we have scenic lifestyles there too, almost untouchable by the titans, but. . . the rivers and its tides wash swifter than the wind—they are just as harsh as the reality we have succumbed to live in.

# # # # #

_My name is Titania Sturzstein. _

_I was born at midnight, on the ninth day of December in 821, to Robert and Iris Sturzstein—they died sometime after that, or so I was told then. I had lived with my grandparents, Jacob and Julie Sturztein, ever since. . . But they died in the year 844, murdered in their homes._

_I have pale skin that contrasts against my short dark hair and brown pair of eyes; I stand five foot and eighteen inches tall, and I weigh around one hundred and thirty pounds the last time I had a physical examination (which was approximately two years ago—after my squadron member, Deidre Thomason, gave birth to a beautiful baby boy). I must weigh heavier than that now, since my gear feels a little too strained. . . _

_I was the worst cadet throughout my military trainee years (probably in the history of the establishment), but managed to graduate eighteenth place in the year 840. I had always planned to join the Scouts Regiment, hoping that I could somehow escape the contractions of raw and waning humanity within the Walls, and not because I wanted to set mankind free. Then I tried to join the Military Police instead, because I had repeatedly failed my 3DMG tests, but in the end, I was too cowardly to face mankind and so I settled for just whatever. I was later happily convinced by a remarkable young man named Erwin Smith and made myself a sincere goal within the Scouts Regiment, of which I had been of service for more than ten years on to date. _

_I rose through my ranks and was given a Squad of my own some two years later; I am the Squad Leader of the Special Weapons Squad, a group that was created solely to experiment on new gadgets and equipments to serve the purpose of the Regiment. If I'd die today, that would leave my lieutenant, Fritz Reinhardt, the sole survivor of our squad: Knut Gottschalk. Hansel Keufer and Deidre, even their young baby boy_—_they have all left us. I like to think for the better, but the circumstances in which they died have left me paralysed for years on end now._

_For that, I feel empty. For that, I have sinned. _

_But I was a leader of some great thing: a family of titan fighters. For their sake, I cannot be so easily bent or broken. For our sake, I cannot simply allow their memories be ruined in this way or fashion. I will fight for them till the end, and so I have, before my death—that is how I have defined my humanity. _

_No titan will take that away._

_Yet still, here I lie, in comfort and shame—Humanity's Strongest holding the hands of the dying Humanity's Luckiest. _

_I guess. . . _

_luck always runs out first before strength._

* * *

**Author's Note:  
_10/04/2015_**_ \- Edited. Fixed some lines. I think this copy is better! _

_Hoping to get the childhood parts up. ;) _

_Thank you for all the Follows and Reviews! ;D_


End file.
